


My Arms Are Hungry For You

by afirethatcannotdie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Costume Parties & Masquerades, First Meetings, Halloween, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afirethatcannotdie/pseuds/afirethatcannotdie
Summary: “Sorry, don’t tell me you’re actually a fan of the Red Devils,” says another voice, and Harry looks beyond Nick to see a guy standing there, taking long sips from a bottle.“I-I am,” Harry stutters, pulse racing at the sight of him. His face is covered in white makeup, and he’s wearing a well-fitting white shirt, black pants, and a long black cape, a set of fake teeth in his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re actually a vampire.”Or the one where Harry and Louis meet at Nick Grimshaw's Halloween party and things go better than anyone could have expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt "Bloodsucker". To read the other amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, you can [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bloodsucker/works) and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, you can [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2017_hl_prompt_challenge/works).
> 
> Special thanks to [Sus](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/) for the beta help :)

It’s Halloween night, and Harry’s socks itch.

“Niall, my socks itch,” he complains, gripping a red plastic cup in one hand as he bends down to scratch his shin with the other.

“I told ya not to wear those,” Niall retorts, downing the contents of his cup in three long sips. “But no, you said it made the look ‘more authentic.’”

“It does!” Harry looks down at his costume, wondering if Niall’s right. He still would’ve been recognizable as a footie player even without the socks.

“Whatever, mate. Hey, you seen Jess anywhere around? She said she’d be here, and I feel like tonight’s finally gonna be the night we get our shit together and start dating.”

Jess is a blonde from the flat across the hall, and Niall’s been in love with her ever since he first laid eyes on her the day they moved in. It’s been two months of him talking about her endlessly, one month since they first had a proper conversation, and two weeks since the first time they went for coffee. Harry hopes they _do_ get together, not only because he’d be thrilled for Niall, but also because it’d probably get Niall to stop flopping dramatically on their tiny kitchen floor proclaiming that he’s going to _die_ if she doesn’t text back.

“I haven’t, but I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Maybe she’s one of those people who thinks it’s not cool to show up too early,” Harry says as he scans the crowd at the house party.

It’s a proper house, nothing like the shitty flats where Harry and Niall usually attend parties. It belongs to Nick Grimshaw, one of the master’s students who works at the radio station with Harry, and it’s not a mansion but it’s certainly the nicest house Harry’s been in during all his time in London.

“Well, she better show up,” Niall mumbles. “I’m gonna go get another drink. You want one?”

Harry looks down at his cup. It’s half-full. By the time Niall gets through the crowd and back, he’ll surely be done with it. “Sure, thanks.”

“Be right back.” Based on the number of people packed into the living room, Harry doubts it.

He leans back against the wall, taking a sip of his drink as he surveys the attendees. There’s still no sight of Jess, but he does spot Liam, the guy who lives in a flat just above theirs and who they’ve hung out with a few times. How does he know Nick? That said, it’s not like there was especially strict security at this party. He could have just heard about it from a friend.

Liam catches sight of him and waves, gesturing for him to come over. Harry hesitates; will Niall be able to find him when he returns? Eh, fuck it. Niall will find him eventually.

“Styles!” Liam yells. He’s dressed as a scarecrow. His girlfriend Sophia’s wearing a Dorothy costume, her hair done in two plaits. “Nice costume. You remember Sophia, right?”

It’s cute that they’re wearing a couples costume. He wonders what it’d be like to have someone who wanted to match your outfit, someone who assumed that they would go with you to a Halloween party as their date. He wants that. And it’s not that he expected to fall in love his first month at uni, but he thought he’d have hooked up with a few people by now. But no, the most action he’s gotten since moving in with Niall is with his hand.

“Hey Sophia,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She’s a year older, has been dating Liam for three years, and knows all the best places to get cheap beer and which clubs have back entrances they can sneak into without paying a cover charge. “Lovely dress.”

“Thanks. Wish I’d dressed as the Wicked Witch though; the front door keeps opening and letting in the cold air. I could use a long cape or something.”

“I could warm you up,” Liam suggests. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.

“You seen Niall around?” Sophia asks Harry as she snuggles up to Liam. “Aren’t the two of you usually attached at the hip?”

Harry fills them in on the situation, proceeding to make happy conversation about plans for the Christmas holidays. Sophia and Liam are off to visit her grandparents in America and just bought their flights. Harry’s quite jealous; he’ll be spending it in Holmes Chapel like always.

He turns to scan the crowd and spots Niall’s shockingly blonde hair. He’s got one hand on the wall, and when Harry turns he can see that he’s talking to Jess, who’s looking up at him with thinly veiled adoration. So he’s found her, then. Good for him.

But now Harry’s without a drink.

“Gonna go get a beer,” he says, turning back to Liam and Sophia, only to find them too caught up in each other to notice him. He waves goodbye to them anyway.

He pushes past people in all manner of costume to get to the kitchen: girls dressed as cats, boys dressed in business suits, and even one very brave girl dressed as a mermaid, shell bikini top and all. He recognizes a few faces, but most are strangers. A whole new world of opportunity, uni is.

He spots Nick for the first time in the kitchen, where he’s uncapping a beer against the edge of the work surface.

“Nice party trick, that,” he says in greeting. A few of the people in the kitchen turn to see who it is, but Harry’s only paying attention to Nick.

“Harold!” he cries, setting his beer bottle on the counter and stepping forward to hug him. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I’ve been here for ages, Nicholas. Seems like you’re too busy to pay attention to _all_ your party guests.”

Nick snorts. “If you haven’t noticed, there’s quite a lot of people here. Much more than I was expecting. I can’t possibly think I’m able to keep track of them all.”

“Well, you’re a popular lad. Nice costume, by the way.” Nick is dressed as a police officer, complete with a hat and a pair of handcuffs clipped to his belt loops, the sleeves ripped off the shirt to show off his arms.

Nick blushes. “Oh, this. Well… Greg dared me to wear it, and, you know.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. Nick’s crush on his coworker Greg is known to absolutely everyone who meets them - except for Greg himself. “That would explain it.”

“Sorry, don’t tell me you’re actually a fan of the Red Devils,” says a third person, and Harry looks beyond Nick to see a guy standing there, taking long sips from a bottle.

“I-I am,” Harry stutters, pulse racing at the sight of him. His face is covered in white makeup, and he’s wearing a well-fitting white shirt, black pants, and a long black cape, a set of fake teeth in his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re actually a vampire.”

Nick raises one eyebrow and Harry flashes him a look that says _yes, I know I’m an idiot who can’t manage to talk to cute boys, thanks_.

“Grimmy, I refuse to believe that you would be friends with anyone who doesn’t support the great Liverpool Football Club,” the guy says, and Harry notices that he’s standing a bit straighter now, trying to make himself look taller.

“Well, Tomlinson, unlike you, I don’t screen my friends based on the preferences of their football teams. Other preferences? Maybe.”

The guy - Tomlinson - just rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he says to Harry. “I’m just saying you don’t look a bloke who’d dress as a Man U player for Halloween. I picture you more as like… a Gucci model or summat.”

Harry sputters. “Are you - are you _hitting on me_?”

“Defo not in that jersey, love. Maybe when you’re out of it.” There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Says the boy who’s dressed as a bloodsucker,” Harry shoots back, and - wow. _Where is this attitude coming from?_

“Alright, alright,” Nick says just as the boy starts to make a comment about sucking. “Harry, this is Louis Tomlinson, third year. We met at the LGBTQ society meeting his first year. Tommo, this is Harry Styles, first year. We work at the station together. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a room full of guests to entertain.” With that, Nick drifts out of the kitchen.

“Hi, Harry Styles,” Louis says, extending a hand. His shirt has ruffles at the wrists, and they brush Harry’s hand as they shake hands.

“Hello, Louis Tomlinson. I like the attention to detail of the costume,” Harry says, gesturing to the ruffles.

“Thanks. I wish I could return the compliment, but I think we’ve established that I cannot, in good conscience, do so.” He takes out the fake teeth and sets them on the counter, and when he smiles without them, Harry feels his heart jump.

“How ever will I survive?” Harry jokes, and he bends down to get a beer from the cooler for something to do. He stands back up, and finds Louis watching him, a curious expression on his face.

“You’re _really_ a Man U fan?”

“Yes! I thought we’d been over this.”

“Just wanted to check again. It’s really quite a shame,” Louis says, pursing his lips and examining Harry. Harry feels a shiver run down his back at Louis’ examination of him. He wonders what Louis sees in the red jersey, the white shorts and the stupid itchy socks.

“And why’s that?” Harry asks, glancing at Louis’ face as he takes a sip of his drink. He’s really quite beautiful, Louis is, with piercing blue eyes and a sweeping fringe.

“Well,” Louis says, adjusting his weight from one foot to the other, “it’s just that I could never date a Man U fan.”

Harry nearly chokes on his drink.

“Y’alright there, Curly?” Louis asks, all pretense of bravado dropped as he claps Harry on the back a few times.

Harry nods, giving a weak little cough just to prove that he can still breathe. “I’m good, I think.”

“Good,” Louis says, clapping him on the back and then moving to take a seat on the work surface, feet banging against the cupboards below. “Because I may hate Man U, but that doesn’t mean I want any of their fans to die of a coughing fit, especially one that’s got a face as pretty as yours.”

  
Harry’s eyes widen. “Are you normally this… forward?”

“Does it bother you?” Louis asks immediately, looking up from where he’s picking at the label of his beer bottle, the condensation making it easier to pick it off. “Because I can stop.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. Just… Been a while. Forgot what it feels like.”

“What what feels like?”

“Having a pretty boy flirt with you,” Harry confesses.

“Ah, so you _do_ think that I’m the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen,” Louis crows, and Harry can imagine him mentally pumping a fist in the air in victory. “Pity about the Man U thing though.”

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you a secret?” Harry asks conspiratorially, leaning in until his beer bottle is just inches from Louis’ knee. “The outfit’s not actually mine. Borrowed it from my flatmate.” Niall had been all too happy to lend Harry something of his for the party; he felt like a better friend when he could make himself useful.

“Well, I s’pose a liar’s still better than a Man U fan,” Louis says with a wink. It makes Harry’s heart twist a bit; there’s just something about Louis that gets under Harry’s skin, making him feel hot and off-kilter. It’s probably just that no one’s flirted with Harry in months. That’s it.

“What’s with _your_ costume, anyway?” Harry asks, his face hot as he realizes Louis has caught him staring. He wants to cringe at how childish he sounds.

“I’m a drama student,” Louis says with a shrug. “Nicked this from the outfits we used for Count Dracula last year.”

“Makes sense,” Harry says. He’s staring at Louis’ lips now, probably not subtle about it at all. He really wants to kiss him, he realizes with a start. Maybe he’s not so immune to Louis Tomlinson after all.

“Yep,” says Louis, kicking his heels against the counter again. “I think I’m gonna go out back for a smoke. You wanna come?”

“I don’t smoke,” Harry says immediately, and because his eyes are trained on Louis’ face he doesn’t miss the way Louis’ face drops for the briefest of seconds and then rearranges itself into a smile once more. _Oh no_.

“Okay,” Louis says as he jumps off the counter. “In that case, it was lovely to meet you, Harry Styles. I hope to see you again someday. Preferably when you’re wearing different clothes.”

He presses his lips to Harry’s cheek as he passes him, and the moment is like something from a film. Harry could swear that time stops as Louis lays a soft hand on Harry’s shoulder and leans in close. Harry can smell his cologne, soft and woodsy and warm. Louis’ fringe brushes Harry’s forehead and his lips are warm against his cheek. It’s so soft and gentle that Harry can’t help but close his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Louis lets his lips linger for an extra second before he pulls away, leaving Harry standing alone.

“Louis,” he says, spinning around to find him once his brain catches up. Louis halts in the middle of the doorway, causing the girl in the mermaid costume to bump into his back.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t smoke, yeah, but I’ll come with you,” Harry says, and the smile that spreads over Louis’ face is the best thing he’s seen all day.

Outside, Louis lights a cigarette and Harry tries to control his shivering in the autumn chill. The chair he’s sitting on is padded, but it’s still cold out there.

“Nice place Nick’s got, innit?” Louis asks, looking around at the fairy lights and outdoor furniture that decorate Nick’s balcony.

“A hell of a lot nicer than mine.”

“Where d’you live?”

“Student halls,” Harry explains. “The one just off the quad.”

“I used to live there! Second floor.”

“No way! I’m on the third.”

“Nice place,” Louis says, “but the heating’s bloody awful in winter. Might want to get one of those heated blankets. Speaking of which, you must be frozen in those shorts. Take this and put it on your lap.” He holds his cigarette between his teeth and unties the cape, passing it to Harry.

“Thanks. What about you, where do you live?”

“In a flat with my best mate Zayn. Not too far from here, actually. Pricey, but better than the student halls,” he says, taking a final drag of his cigarette and stamping it out in the ashtray on the side table.

He lights another and launches into a story about how, their second week in London, he and Zayn had found three mice in their room. “I was afraid to sleep for a week,” he tells Harry, explaining how they’d both stood on chairs and yelled at each other to capture the mice.

Harry laughs, letting the sound of Louis’ voice wash over him as Louis tells him about his first year misadventures. There’s just something about him that captures Harry’s attention and doesn’t let it go, and Harry doesn’t think it’s just that he’s a great storyteller.

“And what about you? Any terrible dating stories of your own?” Louis asks.

“Oh no, no dating stories to speak of at all,” Harry sputters, and then wonders if he should have played it cool.

“I find that hard to believe, a handsome guy like you.”

Harry stares at him. He can’t quite figure Louis out.

The door to the balcony opens, startling them both. Louis looks up immediately, but Harry takes a second longer, his gaze lingering on the way the fairy lights illuminate Louis’ cheekbones. Harry doesn’t want to let him go, doesn’t ever want to separate from him without knowing everything about him.

“Hey,” Louis says to whoever’s just come outside, and Harry forces himself to rip his gaze away, his reaction slowed by alcohol.

“Been looking for you everywhere,” the guy says, and Harry thought he’d known handsome people before this, but nothing compares to the actual Greek God standing before him. He means that literally, as he’s dressed in a toga with a gold braided belt and sandals, a crown of ferns atop his head. The look is a bit minimized by the long black winter coat he’s wearing over it all, but still. He looks _good_.

“Yeah, sorry. Was chatting to Nick,” Louis is saying when Harry starts paying attention again, “and then I found - this is Harry. Harry, this is my flatmate Zayn that I was telling you about.”

“And your best friend! I did not save your life all those times only to be relegated to the role of flatmate. Nice to meet you, mate.”

“You too,” Harry says, shaking his warm hand.

“Anyway, I just came to tell you that I’m sleeping at Pez’s tonight, so you’ve got the place to yourself. Wouldn’t want you to think I was dead in a ditch somewhere,” Zayn says.

“You know I only start to worry when I haven’t seen you in three days,” Louis says with a cheeky grin. “Anyway, have fun. But not too much fun.”

“You too,” Zayn says with a wink as he goes back inside.

“We should probably head back in too,” Louis says, stubbing out his second cigarette. “Stay out here any longer and I’ll freeze my balls off. And I don’t think either of us want that.”

“No,” says Harry after a minute, his brain alcohol-drugged. Or maybe Louis-drugged? It’s hard to tell. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to let Louis go. He lifts the cape from his lap as he stands and hands it to Louis, who wraps it around his neck once more.

“D’you fancy a dance?” Louis asks, holding the door open for Harry. Music pounds throughout the house, felt just as much as it’s heard.

He can feel Louis at his heels as they push through the crowd to get to the living room. Louis’ fingertips are prodding against his back, pushing him forward. The living room is a solid mass of costumed people with very little floor space to actually dance, but they’re all doing their best anyway. Harry feels a tug on his shirt and turns to find Louis stopped, his face lax and lips parted slightly.

“Seems about as good as we’re gonna get,” he yells in Harry’s ear when Harry steps closer to him, and Harry nods. He suddenly feels frozen with nerves; he’s never been what one would call a _good_ dancer, and what if he’s lost the little he does know? It’s one thing to want to dance with someone; it’s another entirely to actually _do_ it.

Louis seems to recognize his apprehension, because he grabs Harry’s hands and rests them on Louis’ waist. “It’s alright!” he calls. “Just follow my lead.”

Louis starts moving his body like he’s simultaneously aware of every motion and also doesn’t have a care in the world. He throws his arms in the air, twisting his upper body and shaking his arse to the beat of a song Harry doesn’t recognize. He’s magnetic, tossing his neck back as he smiles, the very picture of unbridled joy. Harry gets into it after a minute, following Louis’ lead and shaking his body to the beat. He won’t be winning any dance awards anytime soon, but he’s having fun. He grips Louis’ waist tight, pulling him closer.

It’s like Louis is lost in the music, like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. He lifts his hands and rests them loosely around Harry’s neck, grinding up against him. “You having fun?” Louis murmurs in his ear, and when Harry pulls back to look at him, he notices that Louis’ eyes are electric blue, a wild touch to his expression.

“Yeah,” Harry answers a second too late, distracted by the way his gaze has drifted to Louis’ lips. He wants -

“Good,” Louis answers, his voice raspy. He smells of cologne and cigarettes and a bit of sweat, his face curled into a happy smile. He turns in Harry’s arms so that he’s got his arse pressed up against Harry’s crotch, and - holy hell.

He’s got the best arse Harry’s seen since he moved to London. It’s round and firm and how many squats does he need to do to get it like that? Or maybe it’s like that commercial for Gemma’s favorite makeup… ‘maybe she’s born with it’ or whatever. Anyway, not the time. Point is, Louis’ arse is rubbing deliciously across Harry’s crotch, causing tiny bursts of pleasure to shoot across the backs of his eyelids.

Harry drops his lips to rest against Louis’ neck, kissing it briefly. Louis actually _purrs_ , making a noise like a cat as he tilts his head back against Harry’s shoulder to give him better access.

“God, Harry,” Louis mumbles, still grinding against him. Harry wonders if Louis can feel that he’s already half-hard. Probably. Harry squeezes is hips and snakes a hand under Louis’ shirt, scratching lightly at his hipbone. Louis lets out a little moan.

“You like that?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, closing his eyes as Harry does it again. It’s the lightest of touches, but Harry likes the way that it makes Louis go pliant in front of him.

Lois turns around again, wasting no time in pressing himself up against Harry, slotting one leg between his thighs.

 _Public, you’re in public_ , Harry reminds himself as Louis kisses the side of his jaw. But they’re in a crowd full of drunk uni students doing the same thing. It’s fine.

They keep on like that for a bit, getting close to one another without actually kissing, and Louis has the good sense to back off from his teasing a bit. Harry might be into the exhibitionism thing, but he doesn’t want to take it to the point where he’s asking Nick for a new pair of trousers for the journey home.

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his dance, causing him to pull his eyes away from Louis’ face. Is it weird that they’ve just been gazing into eachother’s eyes, swaying gently? He doesn’t care. He turns. It’s Niall.

“Harry, I’ve been looking for you _everywhere_ ,” Niall complains, the hat for his army costume hanging around his neck. “Who’s this?”

“This is Louis,” Harry says as he takes a step backward and prays Niall behaves himself.

“Hi, I’m Niall. Harry’s best friend, and if you get even _close_ to breaking his heart, I’ll kill ya,” he says, shaking Louis’ hand. Harry claps his hand over his face and closes his eyes in embarrassment.

“Niall, please, you really don’t need to-” Harry tries.

“Got it,” Louis says with a smile, and Harry wants to melt into the floor.

“Anyway,” Niall says loudly, and it’s then that Harry can see how drunk he is. “Jess is coming back to our place, so just…” he trails off, and Harry follows his line of vision to Jess standing by the front door, wearing a coat and waiting expectantly. She waves when Harry spots her. He waves back.

“Alright, get outta here,” Harry says, fighting a blush as he pushes Niall toward the door.

“Have fun!” Niall yells, narrowly missing a tall bloke and very nearly spilling his cup of beer.

Harry turns back to Louis. He’s looking at Harry with an amused smile. “I’m so sorry. He’s very drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’s just-”

Louis grins and puts a finger on Harry’s lips, effectively shutting him up. “It’s alright.”

Harry relaxes a little bit, taking two steps toward Louis, back in his space once more. He’s leaning in, tilting his face down, when Louis speaks again.

“D’you wanna get out of here?” Louis asks, the words loud and clear in Harry’s ear. Harry’s breath hitches, and it takes him only the space of one heartbeat to nod. “Okay, we can go back to mine, if you want? I’ve got tea, and we can… Whatever you want.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, swallowing hard. “Just need to get my coat.”

“Me too,” Louis says, and then he reaches down to grab Harry’s wrist, tugging him off to the spare bedroom where the coats are.

It takes six minutes to sort through the pile of jackets - “Of course all of these are bloody black, does no one have _any_ fashion sense,” Louis curses - and then they’re pushing back through the crowd to the front door.

“You good?” Louis asks, face still covered in his vampire face paint as his bright eyes show an eagerness Harry matches, the kind of eagerness he hasn’t felt about anyone in a long, long time.

“I’m great.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Louis says, not the wild, desperate boy from the dance floor but a much calmer edition. More put together. He lets Harry through the door first and Harry wonders if he should have told someone where he was going but _ah, fuck it_ , it’ll be fine.

After a second of hesitation, he slips his hand into Louis’ as they set off in the direction of his flat, and because he keeps sneaking glances at Louis’ face, he doesn’t miss the way his smile widens.

“So you’ve known Nick a long time, then,” Harry says as they pass a closed record shop, the one he visited with Nick the first time they hung out.

“Yeah, since I was a first year. He tried to hit on me, and I told him to fuck off, and he said he thought we’d be great friends.”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like Nick alright.”

“What about you? You work at the station with him, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m a journalism major and when I had to do a work placement, the station was the first place I went. Nick took me under his wing, and that was kind of it.”

A few minutes later, Harry’s in the middle of a (hilarious and quite impressive, if he says so himself) story about his first time speaking live on air when there’s a massive crack of thunder and the heavens open, rain falling in sheets before they’ve got time to process it.

“Run!” Louis yells, tugging on Harry’s hand until he’s sprinting alongside him. Harry’s lungs burn; he might be dressed as a footie player but he doesn’t have the aerobic strength of one.

It’s mere minutes before his coat feels soaked through, only seconds before his springy curls have turned limp and wet, pressed against his head. He’s grateful for the itchy socks, if only because they’re stopping his calves from freezing, but they don’t do that much.

It feels like hours before they stop running, Louis grinding to a halt in front of a building and throwing the door open. Harry darts inside, squinting at the bright light, and Louis follows, opening the inner door for Harry. They pause to catch their breath at the bottom of the stairwell, water dripping onto the floor and their heavy breathing the only sounds in the hall.

Harry looks over and sees Louis’ makeup streaming down his face, white streaked across one cheek where he’d tried to rub it away and failed. He starts giggling, which makes Louis look up sharply, a quizzical look on his face.

“Your makeup,” Harry tries, rifling through his coat pockets for a tissue. He finds one - it’s a bit damp, but it’ll get the job done. “Here, try this,” he says, crossing the small space between them and putting two fingers under Louis’ chin to get him to look up. He wipes as much of it away as he can.

“Thanks,” Louis says quietly, and up this close in the bright light, Harry can see how long his eyelashes are, finally getting a good chance to appreciate Louis without any interruptions. “You’re shivering. Let me take you upstairs, we can… I’ve got dry clothes you can borrow. I’ll toss these in the wash.”

“Ooh, your own washing machine?” Harry asks jokingly. “Watch out, I’ll never let you go now.”

Louis smiles and leads the way up the stairs, the only sound for the three flights that of the squelching of their shoes. On the landing outside his flat, Harry watches as Louis digs through his coat pocket for his keys. It takes three different keys in the lock, but he finally gets it, gesturing for Harry to enter.

Louis flicks on a light and pulls his boots off, shrugging off his coat. “I’ll be right back, I’ll go get you something to wear.”

The space is nice, Harry notes as he peels off his wet socks and strips off his jacket. The kitchen is small, but a hell of a lot nicer than the one he and Niall have, and the living room is decorated in an odd mix of ‘poor college student meets IKEA.’ Harry loves it.

“Alright, try these,” Louis says, coming back a few minutes later and thrusting a bundle of clothes at Harry. He’s changed into joggers and a light gray hoodie, wearing socks but no shoes. There’s still a bit of makeup smeared on his left cheek. “They’re Zayn’s, because I didn’t think any of my trousers would fit you. Because you’re tall, I mean. Not because… Anyway. You can change in the loo,” Louis stammers.

Harry does, taking off his wet clothes and letting them pool at his feet on the cool tile floor. His pants are damp but not terribly so, so he chooses to leave them on. Hygiene, and all that. The sweatpants are warm, soft black fabric that feels good against Harry’s skin, and the cotton t-shirt and maroon hoodie are just as cozy. He slips on the pair of socks Louis gave him and pads out to the hall, wet clothes wrung out in the bathtub and now in a pile in his hand.

“Fit okay?” Louis asks, filling the kettle with water. Harry nods. “I’ll take those from you in a sec, I just thought - tea?”

“Please,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair and noticing that water’s already dripped onto the shoulders of the hoodie, leaving wet patches. “A bit of milk, tiny spoon of sugar, please. And how do I know you’re not going to throw the clothes into the bin?”

“Ah, well, you’ll just have to take my word for it on that one,” Louis says with a small smile. “Tea coming right up.” A few minutes later the tea is ready, they’re sitting on either end of the sofa, and Harry’s wet clothes are in Louis’ washing machine.

“You want to watch a film?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. The tea is warming him from the inside out, and he’s no longer shivering from the cold. Rain pounds against the windowpanes as Louis clicks through the channels, but Harry feels safe here, like… Like nothing can hurt him.

They talk through most of the movie, some superhero film that Louis chose and Harry’s already seen. It’s so easy to talk to him, whether it’s about how Harry studied journalism because he likes telling stories or about that time he skinned his knee learning to ride a bike. It’s easy, it’s comfortable, and Louis seems to feel the same, scootching closer to Harry on the couch so that they can share the same quilted blanket.

“My mum made it,” Louis explains, proud. “When she was pregnant with me. I’ve had it my whole life.”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry says, tracing over the knit fabric. “Must have taken hours.”

“That’s what she said. But she said it was worth it. If this place caught on fire, it’s the one thing I’d take.”

“I don’t know what I’d take,” Harry admits after thinking about it for a minute. “Maybe my grandparents’ wedding photo.”

“It says a lot about a person, you know?” Louis says, looking at Harry with a smile. “What they’d take.” Harry’s never thought about it before, but he’s right. He looks up, and Louis’ face isn’t that far from Harry’s. Harry wants to lean over and kiss him.

It seems like only minutes have passed when the end credits of the film roll and they realize they’ve talked through the entire thing. “Should probably switch over your clothes to the dryer,” Louis says, unfolding his legs and throwing the other side of the blanket over Harry. “Be right back.”

When a few minutes pass and he still hasn’t returned, Harry sets his long-empty mug on a coaster on the coffee table and stands up, carefully folding the blanket and laying it across the couch.

He finds Louis in the bathroom, trying to wipe the remaining makeup off his face. “Oh, sorry,” he says through the open door. “You didn’t tell me this was still on my face!”

Harry smiles and hovers in the doorway, waiting for an invitation to move closer into Louis’ space. Maybe there won’t be one; maybe Louis really did just invite him over for tea. He’s not good at this, is absolutely terrible reading signals and even more so at guessing people’s intentions. But no, he couldn’t have misread. Louis does want him, he can feel it.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Louis says, balling up the tissue and throwing it into the bin. “If I’m stuck with it for life, so be it.”

“Makes you look pretty,” Harry jokes as Louis passes by him back into the hall. “You know, cause you really need the help.”

Louis sticks out his tongue. “More tea?”

“That’d be great.”

Harry leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest as Louis boils the water and takes out two mugs from the cabinet. He has to stand on tiptoes to do it, and if the cute glance he throws over his shoulder is any indication, he’s a little embarrassed about it. Harry loves it.

“So,” Louis says when the kettle’s on. He bites his lip, suddenly nervous, and yeah, that’s really fucking cute. Harry is into him, more than anyone he’s ever met, the need to be closer suddenly clawing at his chest.

“So,” Harry repeats. “Hey, you’ve still got a spot of-” He walks toward Louis, licking his thumb briefly before drawing it across Louis’ cheek, trying to rub off the remaining streak of white paint. There’s still a bit in his hairline, Harry notices. That vampire costume really was a nightmare. “Okay, I give up. You’re stuck with it.”

“Wait,” Louis says softly, three fingers wrapped around Harry’s wrist to stop him from pulling away. Harry raises his eyebrows, uncertain, and then Louis launches forward, pressing his lips to Harry’s, fingers twisting in his hair. Louis walks them backward until Harry’s back hits the wall, and all he can feel is Louis’ lips moving against his, Louis’ lips forcing Harry’s open. It feels good - no, better than good, it feels _perfect_ , feels like everything he’s wanted all night.

“Louis,” he mumbles between kisses, his hands settling on Louis’ waist and gripping tightly. “Louis, I want-”

“What do you want?” Louis asks, dragging his teeth along Harry’s jaw, forcing his neck back so he has better access.

He wants to make Louis feel good. He wants to fall into bed with him, to strip off his borrowed clothes and Louis’ and forget his own name. He wants to wake up with Louis in the morning, to drink tea in bed and shower together. He wants whatever Louis wants to give him.

“You,” he says, and he wonders how one word can encompass so much.

*

He wakes in a strange bed, covers tangled around his legs and soft sheets against his skin. It takes him a minute to remember where he is, and then the memories of the night come flashing back like a film: a pair of orgasms shared against the kitchen wall, joggers around their ankles and their pants still on, laughing against each other’s shoulders as they swore they could never tell Zayn about this. Falling into bed and starting to learn how to make the other feel good. Harry feeling lighter and happier than he has in months, Louis crying out his name over and over again. Promising each other that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing.

“Hi, sleepy head,” Louis says, strolling into the room carrying a breakfast tray. “I’ve got tea and toast. Sorry, not much of a chef.”

Something twists in Harry’s heart at the sight; he’s never had a boy bring him breakfast in bed before. “Well, aren’t you a keeper. Besides, I guess it’s a good thing you’re dating someone who loves to cook.”

“You do?” Louis asks, surprised. “Oh thank God, I was worried we were going to starve.”

“No, this looks good,” Harry says, taking the tray from Louis so he can crawl into bed next to Harry. _Where he belongs_ , Harry thinks, a wisp of a thought deep in his brain.

Harry is just taking his first sip of tea when two phones beep at the same time. Louis looks at him, his face quizzical, and he shrugs.

“It’s Nick,” he says when he finally digs his phone out of the pocket of his joggers. “A group message with the three of us.”

“Uh oh,” Harry says.

“He says, and I quote ‘Don’t think I didn’t catch the two of you leaving together last night. I want a full report on Monday.’”

Harry groans. “He’s the worst.”

“He really is,” Louis agrees. “What should I say back?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, setting the tray aside and reaching for Louis, trying to drag him back to bed. “No more phones. Just kiss me instead.”

“I can do that,” Louis says happily, and he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr [here](www.afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com) and the tumblr post for this fic is [ here](http://afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com/post/156037807831/my-arms-are-hungry-for-you-by-remembermealways).


End file.
